


valentine's in westeros

by ayuminb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (aka watch me pull that funny line all over this bc those boys look exactly like bobert), (none of them is jon sadly. but that's only bc jon is ned's son here), (they have three sons), All Baratheons Are Momma's Boys, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Married Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark, Not Beta Read, Valentine's Day Fluff, the seed is strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: or in which Robert picks a day (or two or three or a thousand) to spoil Lyanna thoroughly.
Relationships: Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 75





	valentine's in westeros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bythunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/gifts).



> [follow us on All the Wolves Have Antlers](https://allthewolveshaveantlers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> _this_ is for me. and bae. happy valentine's day!!

She knows it’s late the very moment her eyes open to a brightly lit bedchamber. For a moment, Lyanna wonders if something happened. She doesn’t recall ordering to be allowed to sleep in the day before, as she would occasionally do; she _cannot_ do that when Robert is away seeing to their bannermen, and Harbert had the annoying tendency to come knocking on her door before dawn with one pressing matter or the other since _it requires your immediate attention, my lady._

And if not him, then the children; little terrors full of endless energy who simply burst into her chambers demanding her attention before she can even place her feet on the floor.

_So why is it so quiet now?_

_Mischief,_ comes the answer, the boys probably caused some mischief that’s yet to be discovered. Lyanna groans, closes her eyes and turns away from the sunlight filtering through the windows, burying her face in the pillow. _Why couldn’t the gods give me daughters instead?_ With a louder groan, she rolls further into the bed until something soft brushes over her cheek, and a sweet smell reaches her nose.

She sits up, gasps, and watches in shock as blue and gold petals fall from her hair onto the pillows and the sheets and cling stubbornly to the furs when she pushes them away. _Winter roses and goldencups._ Her bed is full of them, almost another blanket. The smell lingered in the air and, as she moves to stand, she notices a path painted blue and gold leading to the door. The first thought to push through her shock is that Robert must be home. The second, is if perhaps she’d forgotten an important celebration - the gods _know_ she’s not the best at keeping track of which dates are worth noting besides the name day of those she loves and the day she married.

The third—

“He _raided_ my garden?”

By the looks of it, ten years of dedication are currently scattered across her chambers, and down the hall if she has to guess. Her heart _flutters,_ a pleasant warmth growing in her chest, because she _knows_ this is Robert's doing and that makes her _happy._ But Lyanna still feels a spark of annoyance.

Because she’s rather protective of her garden.

Lyanna has always been fond of flowers, and she’d known Storm’s End lacked a proper garden, like the Glass Gardens of Winterfell. So when she’d been married shortly after her eighteenth name day, she’d asked Robert if she could work on building one. Lyanna hadn’t understood his slightly bewildered look, even as he said yes, had thought he’d deny her once they were away from her family.

Until they’d crossed the gates of her new home, and her lord husband had grabbed her hand and led her away, into the godswood nearby, as the servants began carrying their trunks inside the keep. Nearly humming in his excitement, Lyanna could only think the _worst_ until they came upon an brandnew archway leading into a colorful garden: daisies and lilies, goldencups and poppies, lilac and lavender, dragon’s breath.

_And winter roses._

It had taken Lyanna nearly four years to be able to look at a winter rose and not feel a rush of contempt. _Nearly four years,_ and by the time her anger had settled she was only weeks away of becoming the Lady Baratheon; she never thought she’d see these flowers again, had known Robert despised them deeply. But then she’d asked…

_“They are your favorite.”_

His smile had been the right amount of bright and bashful, and Lyanna might have fell a little bit in love with him that day.

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt now, _husband,_ ” she mumbles to herself, and swiftly moves across her chambers to grab her robe.

It is because of how much that garden meant to her, that Lyanna cannot simply enjoy this gesture completely; Old Addam, the gardener, is not the only one who cared for it after all. Lyanna had made it something to occupy her time when she had it, before she worked up the courage to ask Robert for something else she wished. And thus…

The hallway is, predictably, littered with rose petals, blue and gold and many other colors. She follows the path slowly, making note of every flower scattered, feelings swinging back and forth between happiness and annoyance. Until she’s standing in front of the lord’s solar, lifts her hand to knock, and hears her boys giggling like fools.

_Immediately_ , the annoyance vanishes, and Lyanna smiles as she pushes the door open.

_“SURPRISE!”_

The laughter bubbles up quickly, she’s barely enough time to close the door before three little Baratheons, that are in _truth_ not so little, crash into her. As always demanding, each vying to be the first to kiss her cheek, to grab her hand, to get her _smiles._

“That’s enough, _you rascals!_ Unhand my wife!”

But no one, _truly,_ is ever as demanding as Robert. He comes and wraps her up in his arms and spins her around, away from their whining sons, who give chase. Unbothered, he peppers her face with soft kisses, mumbling his love in between each butterfly touch. On the next pass over her lips, Lyanna grabs the back of his head and kisses him back, _deeper,_ until the thrill Robert evokes in her has her shuddering.

He lets her go then, grinning brightly. Surprise, indeed.

“And?” Robert asks, grabbing her hands and pulling her over the settee. "Is the surprise to your liking?"

It’s impossible to keep her smile off her face. “I do not even know what it is we’re celebrating?”

Eddard, her firstborn with nine years of age, comes to place a poorly woven flower crown on her head, made of the many flowers she has in her garden. Steffon, her second with seven years, stands a few paces away struggling with his own flower crown, a cute frown in his face. Her third child, Edric, who’s barely three, brings her only his grin as he pulls himself up onto her lap.

“‘Tis Love’s Day!”

“Love’s Day?”

Steffon finally deemed his present done and rushes to her side. “Yes! Papa said today we should spoil you and give you much, _much_ love!”

“And he called it Love’s Day?” Robert shrugs when she looks at him, unrepentant, so she aims to make him squirm a little. “And whose idea was it to trample my garden?”

All three of their sons, with their black hair, bright grin, and blue eyes, point unequivocally at their father.

“Betrayed by my own flesh and blood!”

She laughs.

“And we did not _trample_ anything, just picked a few flowers—”

_“A few.”_

“It’ll grow back, and!” Quickly, he stands, and pulls her to her feet as well. “ _And,_ this is not all, we’ve still much to give you. Right, boys?”

“Mama, we got you a new horse!”

“And a new blade!”

“And sweets from Essos!”

“We’ll visit Braavos again!”

“And the Summer Isles!”

“And then Winterfell!”

A exquisitely made sword, jewels and gowns and cloaks, new riding boots and breeches too; all piled up near the hearth neatly. Her hands itch to grab the new blade, graze the silk of the gowns, but impatient little things they are, her boys are urging her to follow them outside. A tug of each hand, and each takes off as fast as their legs would carry them, which means Eddard goes farther and faster, while Edric struggles to keep up but isn’t discouraged.

Lyanna lingers back until Robert bumps into her.

He leans down until his lips brush over her ear. “Your new mount awaits, my lady.”

“And then Braavos?” She asks, softly, turning her head to him and bumping their noses together.

“And the Summer Isles and Winterfell.”

He picks her up, and begins walking again.

“And how, precisely, do you pretend to accomplish all of it on this one day?”

“Love’s Day.”

“On _Love’s_ Day.”

He stops at the entrance of the keep, right beneath the threshold, right as their children call out for them to hurry. But Robert still stops, and lingers, and gives her that smile that never fails her to make her heart flutter.

“I’ll find a way.”


End file.
